The Silver Balloon
by candelight
Summary: Turtle tot fiction! On a whim, Mikey releases a gray balloon into the night sky with a notecard with his name and "address." But he was never expecting someone to FIND it-let alone reply with a letter! Mikey finds a penpal of all sorts..and an old legacy.
1. Into the Night Sky

The Silver Balloon

Mikeyおよびローザは気球によって会うか。 作家交換単語。

Turtle tot fiction! On a whim, Mikey releases a gray balloon into the night sky with a notecard with his name and "address." But he was never expecting someone to FIND it...let alone reply with a letter! Mikey finds a penpal of all sorts on that fateful day, and an old legacy behind it.

~*~*~

Bonjour, everyone! :D ^^ *Huggles.* Am hoping you are all well. I was at the library (Internet was still down, so no chance of me working on my Fanfiction....*Sighs sadly.* And none here at my grandmother's home either, so I just make do with notepad, which, in all earnesty, tis not that bad. Until I can upload, I will type. Probably a better strategy for me, anyhow.

This is based off of an old children's story I found while I was musing around the shelves. Normally, a children's book is a children's book-but the cover looked so sweet I decided that there couldn't be any harm in simply LOOKING.

.......minutes later, I had settled down with the story, and had begun to read. ^^ I am taking a few liberties with the original plot (The original tale features a little girl and a farmer...so I am adjusting that to Mikey and Rosa, instead. The plot was burning at me when I stepped out of the library...and thus, here I am. Lol.

*Huggles.* Please, do take care, everybody.

_~*~*~*~_

_"To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart." _

_~Phyllis Theroux_

_~*~_

You know, he had never quite thought of this, but now, it was officially decided.

Humans were doing something right by usually having ten fingers instead of six.

Mikey scowled lightly to himself as again the knot became untied, and the silvery string slowly slid against his grasping fingertips-

...up to the bedroom ceiling once again. The orange-clad turtle groaned, and buried his face in his hands, feeling the frustration beginning to bubble up in the caverns of his stomach. Was this how Raph felt on a contyinual basis?

No matter. Mikey stood on slightly wobbly legs (He'd been sitting on them for some time now) and, after a bit of effort, managed to stretch for the gray balloon's string once again before stubbornly tugging it back to Earth with minimal effort before reaching for a silver device that lay beside him on the bed, placing the balloon's string in his mouth before reaching for the old notecard that was on the table beside his small bed. _  
_

Having three fingers, it seemed to certainly impair him when it came to tying knots, but at least using the hole-puncher was easy (And to him, quite fun) enough. After pressing the device against the cream white paper, Mikey lowered it as he reached for a nearby red crayon that was spilling from an old, slightly woebegone rock behind him, humming slightly as he did so.

Mikey frowned absentmindedly to himself as he pressed his name onto the notecard, noting ahead of time that his full name-Michelangelo-was awfully big to begin with. And, coupled with his large, shaky writing....

The turtle shook his head, the balloon swaying gently back and forth with his motions, rubber occasionally bumping the walls.

Better just to put 'Hamato Mikey.' That was good enough.

Mikey's eyes glanced over to the nearby door, and he pressed his name into the card a bit hurriedly. If Raph found out about this, the turtle knew he would never hear the end of it.

Michelangelo wrote the last 'O' in his name, smiling lightly as he lowered the crayon, feeling rather pleased with himself. It looked nice-nothing like Donatello's handwriting, but Splinter had only begun to teach them penmanship three years ago. Sue him if he was still a bit clumsy-or didn't have an IQ of....

........

Well, whatever the heck Donny's IQ was already at. Mikey could live with that. Hakuna Matana and all that stuff.

Mikey picked up a blue crayon next, and pondered lightly before pressing it to the page again.

Of course, for his plan to work, the seven year old turtle couldn't very well put 'The Sewers, New York City.' That would hardly work.

Remembering the old, condemned house three feet away from the nearest manhole, Mikey's eyes lit up, and he hastily left the home's address upon it, hoping the aliens wouldn't inspect the house address for what it was. Sheesh. That house had been boarded up because of a termite infestation. The turtle lived better then that-and he resided in the New York City sewers. To be thought living among termites would be mortifying-particularly if the aliens were snooty and hygenic.

He paused lightly once again.

If they were snooty and hygenic, then WHY was he trying to make contact?

Mikey shook the thought off and continued to doodle on the paper, humming once again. What Donny said was probably right-the balloon would end up tangled in some tree, or left on a TV sattelite or get struck by lightning or go too high and simply have the atmosphere's pressure pop it out of existence.

And he doubted he really wanted to make contact with aliens. Most of them from the old, 1940s horror flicks he watched so reguarly weren't too friendly. Mainly because they were readily in the habit of eating brains and abducting people.

Mikey shuddered at the thought as he pulled the balloon out of his mouth, and considered the small piece of paper again as he tugged the silver piece of string through the hole in his paper, hoping that the knot would slip into....straight again. After three or four times, this was seriously getting aggravating.

The turtle glanced at the nearby watch Leo had fished out from the gutter, and hastily began to doube his efforts in getting the small card properly attached to the string. It was almost dinnertime-and he seriously wanted to get this thing out beforehand. After dinner, it was bathtime, teeth brushing, story, and bed. He'd never be able to get out after that-Splinter, lucky rat that he was, went to bed at his usual, _later_ hour, and meditated beforehand in the living room, as was his ought. Getting out of the lair THEN would be just as easy as training Raph to join the Clergy, so he had ten minutes to release this baby into the air.

Why he was doing this, he didn't know. At first, he had held with the hope that maybe extra-terrestial contact would be made if the balloon broke Earth's orbit. But Donny had insisted on giving his bemused brother a two hour lecture-one that which Mikey had promptly slept through most of the duration-on why that was not even remotely possible. So, no dice there....but still, the reason why he was still so desperate to send this letter with his name into the world, eluded him.

Perhaps it was because the thought of a balloon sailing away into the sky-bittersweet as it was-was somewhat pretty. Mikey had always wanted to let a balloon go into the air, and simply watch it bob away into the skyline.

Or maybe it had to do with making contact-unlikely though it seemed?

Mikey shook his head as he finally drew back from the newly completed knot, pride radiating from his persona. At last.

Maybe it was the knowledge of having his name out into the world-maybe _that _was the sheer enjoyment. That outside the rusted, convoluted, manholes of New York City-his name could exist, even for a short period of time. Like that of an author's-though a writer's name usually tended to stay, so long as SOMEONE read what they had to say.

That sounded nice.

With another grin, Mikey stood up once again, and opened his mouth to sneeze-

....only, to his disgruntlement, to send it soaring to the bedroom ceiling once again.

* * *

~*~

"Mikey? Hey, Mike?"

Leo popped his head out of the kitchen, looking slightly confused.

It was pasta night. Pardoning the occasions when his family would order in pizza, Mikey was always the first one in here.

So where was the little buggar, anyhow?

~*~*~

* * *

How anyone could refer to this place as the "slums of New York," he would never know.

Mikey let out a soft, pleased sigh as a breeze ruffled his head soothingly, and turned his head lightly in the shadows as he inhaled, hoping the thinner air wouldn't leave the turtle light-headed.

It was too bad this city was always exploding into light 'round here. It just made it all the harder to see any stars in the somewhat rare occasions that Mikey was in somewhat of a quieter mood.

The balloon still flickered behind him in the breeze as Mikey turned around once again, and slackened his grip on the string.

He'd found the small thing adrift in the sewers. How it had ended up there, he would never know, but Mikey had certainly been too delighted to care.

Now, came his opportunity.

Mikey grinned lightly as he released the silverly balloon into the air, watching it waver slightly before uncertainly taking into the air. It almost seemed alive.

Another breeze racked the air, and Mikey watched the balloon slowly rise, as if incredulously taking in its newfound freedom. With a chilly gust, it spun quickly into the breeze, Mikey's name card spinning violently as the tail slowly swept off into the air-Mikey had to resist the urge to seize it-as it took to the night sky, higher, and higher-out of range-and then-

It glinted faintly as it took to the air, rapidly becoming little more then a faint speck as Mikey watched, entranced, it depart. It spun as it took to the distance, getting smaller, and smaller, and smaller, as it slowly disappeared into the distance, stars taking no notice of the new, silvery little orb that had so recently joined their ranks. Mikey sighed slightly at the thought.

"MIKEY!"

The poor turtle started, and whipped around as Raph's voice reverberated in a frantic, incredulous whisper from the nearby grating, angry eyes glaring at him reproachfully from the sewer ladder.

"Whaddaya think you're doing, shell for brains? GET DOWN HERE!"

Mikey just managed a small shrug and grin as he idly waltzed over, knowing that would only provoke his brother more.

"Sorry, bro. Just needed some air."

Raph scoffed.

"'Just needed some air' my foot, ya doofus. Geez, you want Splinter to find out?"

The turtle clad in red blinked, groaned, and buried his face in his hands as Mikey began to climb in.

"Great. Now you got me sounding like Leo. Come on, Knucklehead-it's dinner time. And don't you let me catch goin' on a surface trip-and leave me outta it!"

Mikey only laughed as Raph's grumbles filled the small tunnel, but the small prankster turned to give the sky a thoughtful glance before allowing the heavy manhole cover to slid over him once again.

There was a 99.9 chance of nothing happening, as a result. Nothing.

Zero.

Zip.

Nada.

Goose eggs.

But it certainly couldn't hurt to try, could it?

Mikey's smile only widened as Raph began to shake his head disparingly at his brother, and fussed over some matter or another. But Mikey was not really listening.

His thoughts were still, quite literally, up in the air.

* * *

~*~*~

His eyes darted to left.

And then the right.

For a split second, Mikey was absolutely still, not even allowing himself to breathe as he took in the nightly silence, heart thumping slightly underneath the thick hoodie Splinter had acquired from the nearby Church's donation box.

At last, the turtle climbed out of the gaping hole of the sewers, sighing lightly.

He really wasn't sure why he continued to take such risks over something that would or would not-most likely the latter-occur. He'd already been disappointed for the past two weeks, so it was only a flickering trace of hope that anybody could-or would-respond at all.

The orange clad turtle quickly darted from the nearby alley, heart thumping as he reached the other side of the road, devoutly thankful that no cars seemed to be about on the East side this evening. At least, not regularly. One or two passed by occasionally-leaving the startled turtle terrified-but that was about all, and the turtle was fairly certain that, after this night's sure to be failure, he'd be numb about the whole thing, and just forget about it, like he should.

Master Splinter and the others had noted his odd behavior at this time of hour and had asked him about it, but he'd simply shrugged them off. With luck, they'd simply forget about it.

Mikey hesitantly approached the boarded up house, shivering lightly. Ucckk. This place gave him the creeps.

But now was no time for dawdling. Just to get this night's disappointment over with.

Eyes flickering, expression slightly saddened at the thought, Mikey carelessly yanked open the mailbox (He had long since dropped the fright that anything was going to jump out at him) and lightly felt about inside, expecting his fingers to brush against empty space, as usual.

But his fingertips brushed against something tangible. The turtle froze.

_It's just another ad, _Mikey thought quickly, his heart picking up pace again. Just another ad, just another ad someone stuck in there....

Hesitantingly, Michelangelo tugged his fingers around the thick paper-must be a magazine subscription thingie-and pulled it out, squinting to make out whatever ads or coupons someone had placed around the border.

But there were none. Instead, there was a street address-one on the corner, and one in the center, preceded with a name-

_Hamato Mikey_


	2. An Odd Correspondence Begins

The Silver Balloon

手紙を通ってそれらは会う! ローザおよびMikey!

An Odd Correspondence Begins

~*~*~

* * *

Bonjour, everybody! And a very happy Easter to you all! *Huggles.*

Forgive me for not updating for a bit...just got back from Wisconsin. There's been a little insanity about here, but everything's okay now.

I certainly like this tale...*Sighs happily...* Wish me luck in completing it.

Please, take care, everyone!

* * *

Quote:

_"To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart."_

_~Phyllis Theroux

* * *

_

~*~*~

Mikey's already heavy breathing esculated quite sharply as he uncertainly tugged the heavy paper into his tri-fingered hands, heart still fluttering like that of a captive hummingbird's wings, disbelief still pattering about his body as realization began its slow incline in.

No.

No, he had not been wrong. There his name was-in black and white-albeit much more neatly scripted then his small hands could craft-!

_Hamato Michelangelo._

He swallowed, feeling uncertain joy quietly thunder about himself, his hands beginning to tremble.

_It had worked._

It had actually worked. The startled turtle quickly glanced down at the precious paper once again, heart still pounding.

But who had found the balloon and letter?

And _why_ had they....?

The astonished boy quickly checked the front left of the letter, frowning slightly in the dim light as the seven year old made out a return address in rather spiky, old fashioned handwriting:

_Rosa Monroe_

_7661 Peach Creek Avenue_

_Dusky Pines Nur. H, VT. 70988_

~*~*~

The poor turtle swallowed as he took in the name, squinting.

Rosa Monroe? Who was that? Some lady in...Vermont?

.....Vermont? His balloon had actually gotten so far as past the state borderline?

Now feeling immensely pleased with himself, he glanced down at his newfound treasure once again, before quickly peering about in the dim lighting still flickering faintly from the buzzing street lamp's bulb.

He had to hurry back home-lest Splinter discover that Mikey had still not arrived home for dinner (Which was unseemly for the small joker, in any case....) and came looking for him....

The turtle swallowed.

.....and then, traced his scent up to the surface world....which Splinter had made a point of telling his sons to _not_ do...seven or eight times a day....

With that stomach-lurching thought, Mikey gulped, and after carefully tugging his hood back over his face, the turtle dashed across the street, but not before carefully tucking the small piece of paper into his pocket, three fingers tenderly closed over it-even as he awkwardly made his way back into the sewers, uncertainly dragging the manhole cover back over himself as he did so. Doing these things with only one hand kind of made things difficult. Splinter was still tutoring the turtles on becoming more ambidextrous-but Mikey still preferred the use of both his hands-or, failing that, his right one.

But that could easily be overlooked at the moment. The little boy felt his chest swell as he made his way down the rusty steps.

It was his first-and quite possibly only-letter, and he certainly didn't want to take any chances moving about in the dank darkness that was often referred to as home. Opting to walk rather then take his skateboard, Mikey hummed lightly as he raced home, one hand still locked over his prize.

* * *

~*~*~

Luckily, no one had noticed Mikey's absence had not been heavily noted-pardoning Raphael, who claimed that their small clan's quiet reprieve had been concluded with the turtle's rearrival.

After carefully tucking his letter away in his pillowcase, Mikey had immediately responded by tackling his brother to the ground, cascading into a wild, sprawling rumble-concluded only when a slightly bemused Donatello had come into the room, and announced dinner.

Well, that had got their attention, alright.

After the two had raced into the kitchen, and Master Splinter sternly redirected the two grudging boys to turn around-and WALK into the kitchen this time, the meal commenced.

But even Mikey occasionally slipped into lapses of silence today, his own thoughts continuously flickering to the letter, even when Leo and Raph began to kick one another under the table.

Who was this 'Rosa' person?

How had she found the balloon?

Why did she respond? Not that he was complaining, but it seemed an unlikely action for someone to partake. Then again, if some balloon drifted out of nowhere with someone's name and address on it....

....still, the more palpable motion would be to merely ignore said piece of paper. Why had Rosa responded? That MUST have been what had transpired-else, who would have sent a letter to that small hovel-with HIS name on it?

Mikey paused before taking a small sip of milk, Donny now flinging a pea at Raphael.

What had she said in the letter? Anything at all?

And, what had been, exactly? Scathing? Sympathetic?

....nice?

* * *

"Masta' Splinter?"

"Hmmm?"

The orange clad turtle awkwardly handed the rat the next clean-albeit damp-plate, doing his best to secure the plate in his father's clawed hands. He'd had more then his fair share of memories of having the soaked, soapy plates slide through his fingers.

Sighing lightly with pride as the rat casually took the slightly cracked plate from him, and began to resume wiping another, Mikey's eyes immediately stole to the nearby clock.

He mentally groaned as he turned towards his Sensei once again, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Um....when d'you think bedtime is?"

Splinter's brow furrowed lightly as the sounds of Donatello and Leonardo playfully chasing one another echoed from the nearby living room, but he ignored them as he turned to his youngest son, looking rather puzzled.

"My son, your bedtime is half past eight-which-" (He glanced at the clock.) "-is a hour and a half from now. Same as always."

The rat's expression became rather stern.

"And I don't want any horseplay tonight, Michelangelo. Nor arguments-and _no fussing. One _story. That is_ all."_

Splinter resumed wiping the dishes dry, moving the plates into a nearby cupboard as he finished each one.

"Matthew is going to attempt to stop Veronica's wedding before it is too late," the rat idly explained, glancing anxiously at the clock once again.

"He has to catch the last flight to Rome if he wants to stop the ceremony and tell her the truth about Steven.....and the flight is already overbooked..."

Mikey only idly nodded before picking up the last dish, and flippantly began to hand it to Master Splinter-

....only to have it slip from his fingers moments later, directly onto the floor.

CRASH!

"O-Oooops...."

"Michelangelo!"

~*~*~

Baths were done (Much to Mikey's pleasure) and a story had been read. Quite normally, this part of the day was Mikey's least favorite-but tonight, bedtime could hardly come quickly enough.

Splinter started as Mikey eagerly shuffled into his pillows, the turtle looking slightly breathless as the rat hesitatingly tucked him inside.

"My son...you look rather...keyed up."

Splinter sounded slightly suspicious-and the turtle swallowed as, from the next bed, Don swiveled his eyes to him, looking curious.

Mikey fought to keep his voice casual.

"U-Um....n-no. Just...r-ready to hit the hey."

Raph snorted as Splinter planted a small kiss on the top of his head.

"Um....kay. Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

The small turtle only rolled his eyes as Splinter simply sighed, and reached for the nearby candle still flickering on the nearby nightside table.

Mikey turned slightly pale as the rat blew out the candle, leaving the room in abrupt darkness. Mikey's heart beat somewhat faster as Splinter left a small peck on the top of Mikey's mask, then slowly moved towards Leo and Don's nearby hammocks.

"Goodnight, my sons."

With that, the rat took his usual, quiet gait outside the room. Mikey listened to his footsteps fade away into the distance-no doubtedly going to tune in to see whether or not Steven was really Matthew's evil twin brother.

The small turtle turned in the darkness, listening to Leo shuffle quietly a few beds away, and Raph exhale quietly into his pillow.

Don's easy breathing was already drifting from the nearby darkness. He was already out like a light.

Mikey's own eyelids flickered in the gentle darkness. He fought to keep them open as the turtle simply lay there for awhile, resisting the urge to follow his brother into the clasps of sweet slumber.

~*~

For what seemed to be the longest while, Mikey simply lay there, occasionally moving his hand to his yellow plastron to feel his soft heartbeat reverberate quietly in the dark.

Raph's snores at last echoed North of him, and, none too soon, Leo's small inhales and exhales filled the room, making the youngest of the four more then slightly drowsy by this point.

How very like his brothers to be conspiring against him, even in his sleep. Feh.

Mikey lay absolutely still for a few more seconds, heart beating as his hand slid into his pillowcase, fumbling about for the small piece of paper he knew to be there. In a few seconds, his fingers brushed against the smooth, creamy surface of the envelope.

And, something else.

The turtle coyly drew the small rod of plastic, hurriedly ducking about under his pillows and quilt before hastily flicking the light on. Thank heck that Donny had been able to provide him with batteries for this thing.

Perching the miniscule light awkwardly in his lap, Mikey's hands at last shifted to the envelope, and, after getting his fingertips under some control-began to carefully pry it open, freezing whenever the rip-rip-ripping sound would echo particularly nosily in the small bedroom.

But, most fortunately, no one's breathing was unbroken as the turtle at last slid the small piece of paper out from its confines, swallowing heavily before unfolding the paper with one hand, and reaching for the flashlight with his other as he perched, light directed at the small print directed in front of him:

_Dear...Hamato Mikey, as I believe your name to be. Quite the charming name you have there. ^^ Most very interesting._

_Your balloon was caught in a nearby branch near the Magnolia tree of the Home. I was just outside, admiring the scent and appearance of such rare and frail beauties....when what should my wandering eyes look upon-a crumpled barrage of silver! I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me-the balloon looked rather lovely in the sunlight. It sent a small, spectrumed rainbow near the roots of the tree whenever it caught the illumination. Twas quite nice._

_But I could hardly let it sit in the tree all day, and pulled out my wheelchair to perch upon to retrieve it. It was a bit of a job-I'm hardly as young as I used to be-but I did manage, in the end. Bit of a small shame-it did look nice, where it was._

_In any case, I was hardly expecting to find a namecard attached to the string! It was not damaged-and for that, I am grateful....it rained later that night, and another night alone in the twigs would have been the end of your notecard-along with your balloon._

_It certainly was quite the sight for sore eyes, however. I'm merely happy that your name did not become too obscure in the time that it WAS caught in the brush._

_Am not quite sure why I am writing. I recognized your handwriting as that of a child's-and I pondered the idea of you leaving your address to the balloon in case it should wander away-rather like one would leave an address to a dog or cat's collar. I am sorry to say that while your balloon is ruined....it did brighten up my day a bit, and I did wish to thank you for that. _

_It is getting late. Time passes, as is it's ought. I must have George send this out in the morning. Do take care._

Rosa. ^^

_~*~*~_

For a minute, Mikey just sat there, feeling a small but unmistakable smile curve up his face.

So she had been confused-but_ happy. _Happy to see it. She had even responded.

Feeling a light bloom of warmth, Mikey's hands immediately scrambled for his nearby box of crayons, and his small sketchpad. Sprawling back into a sitting position, the turtle awkwardly flipped through the pages, searching for a clean sheet before hastily beginning to write.

_Dear Rosa,_

_Hi! How are you? I am fine._

_I can't believe someone actually got my letter!! Wicked awesome. _

Mikey heavily inhaled. That seemed a good way to start. But what now?

The turtle bent over his work once again.

_Thanks for responi-ripict-_

Mikey paused, blinked, and scratched his head bewilderedly before resuming. Mikey's black crayon moved messily about the paper, fussily rubbing out the bad spelling attempts before beginning once again.

_-talking back. I was really glad you did._

What was left to say after that? The turtle paused, and bit his lip.

He hadn't actually expected anyone to FIND his letter. It had more then certainly caught him off guard. He really should have thought this out.

Mikey shot an uneasy glance at the door.

What about Splinter? Would he mind if he knew the truth? Well, he'd certainly mind that Mikey was sneaking about on surface, but....

.....and that would end any chance of ever responding to Rosa-let alone converse with a human.

Mikey's eyes dulled, then brightened.

Surely, if the rat never found out-if he never had to ask-especially since he knew what the answer would be, anyway-

He grasped a green crayon, and partook it to the page.

_I didn't think anyone would. And no-that wasn't what I was trying to do. But that's a pretty cool idea, anyways. _

_What's your favorite color? What d'you like to do?_

That seemed okay to ask.

_I live in New York City-the best one in the world. City, I mean._

_I have three brothers. My favorite color is orange. _

_Do you like Vermont? Is it pretty? Do you live in a city? Or the suburbs? I've never seen them on anywhere but the telly. _

_What's a Magnolia tree? Did my balloon hurt any of the flowers? I hope it didn't. And, I'm really sorry if I did._

Mikey hesitated, then began to fold the small piece of paper into an envelope. He hesitated, unfolded it, and began to write again.

_Will you write back? I won't mind if you do. Actually, it'd make me very happy, if you're not too busy._

_And thanks. I like my name. I like yours, too. 'Rosa' sounds pretty._

It was an embarrassing thing to say, but Mikey liked the name. And it seemed like a good enough way to end a letter.

Except for...hold on...

I hope that you don't mind that I wrote back. Sorry if I bugged ya. My brother Raphael says that's what I do best.

Please write back soon (If you don't mind)

Mikey (Michelangelo, but I like Mikey better.)

With that, Mikey let out a small sigh, placed his letter and crayons on the table, and lazily flicked his light off before sinking back into his pillows.

He could find a way to mail the letter in the morning. For now, it was good.

Losing the war against his eyelids, Mikey at last gave in and folded, allowing the drowsiness to wash over him, whence sleep followed soon after-and he thought no more.


	3. The Letters From beyond The Wall

The Silver Balloon

Letters From Beyond The Wall

書き言葉は中心を結合する! Mikeyおよびローザは単語の普遍的な奇跡に会う!

~*~*~

Konnichiwa, everybody. I hope you are well.

*Huggles.*

Forgive me for my lack of updates lately. I guess I've been a little dispirited, but I think I'm alright for the most part, now. Some complications in my family over custody rights have been risen to a boil...and it will later be resolved on Tuesday of next week. Wish me luck.

This chapter is dedicated to my very dear niichan, Mikell. Thank you for everything, my friend. Doomo arigatou gozaimasu.

Please, take care, y'all. And, for those of you who have seen 'Back to the Sewers,' you might recognize the reference to the episode, "The Incredible Shrinking Sterling" in this chapter. ^^

Quote:

_"To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart."_

_~Phyllis Theroux_

_~*~

* * *

_

_He wriggled underneath the comforting warmth of his pillows, blinking blearily in the darkness before closing his eyes once again with a muffled sigh, hand moving reflexively from where it lay on the quilt cover, absentmindedly tracing about the old blanket's stitched pattern repeatably._

_The turtle had been dreaming that he had been wearing a fighter pilot's mask before taking off into the wild blue yonder in his envelope-shaped jet, zooming up into the tapestry of the sky before hurtling over odd, unfamiliar patches of land before enemy fire began bursting behind him. _

_He frowned lightly, and turned over-_

_But not in time to miss the pillows now being fired from the pursuing jet's launcher._

_~*~*~_

_Poof._

_Biff._

_Biff, biff, biff, biff._

He scowled again in his slumber. The other letter-jet was still pummeling him with pillows. And now, he was beginning to feel it....

The turtle turned again as voices began to quietly resound in the room.

"Geez-he sleeps like he's_ dead."_

Mikey made a mental note to return enemy fire as Donatello's voice resonated into the room.

"Poke it again, Raph. It might still be alive."

Another pillow bounced off of the now disgruntled, orange clad turtle as he groaned, shifted under the covers, and, at last, poked his head out from under the covers to meet a trio of faces similar to his own peering bewilderedly at him.

Raph absentmindedly chucked another pillow at him, but even the sleep-deprieved turtle could duck this oncoming missile before grudgingly climbing out of his hammock, yawning heavily as his feet meet the cool stone floor.

"H-Hey? What's the big idea?"

The little red clad turtle rolled his eyes before Splinter's voice resonated from the next room.

"My sons. Tell Michelangelo to rise-we have a lot to accomplish today. Breakfast will be getting cold if you do not hurry up."

Raph nodded vigorously at the growl that bubbled from Mikey's stomach.

"Yeah. What Sensei said-get your lazy shell in the kitchen before Splinta bops ya. We got places to see, things ta do."

Leo wearily sighed, and rolled his eyes from behind Raph.

"Mikey doesn't need a hearing aid, Raph. And I'm pretty positive Sensei didn't say it like _that_."

"Might as well have."

The turtle clad in blue just exhaled in response.

"Well, Mike-hurry up. Master Splinter's cookin' eggs for breakfast today."

Don shifted to one foot to the other.

"Race you guys there! I want them sunny-side up!"

The little scientist sprinted out of the room, leaving Raph to gag in indignation.

"Sunny-side up? Yeah, and why don't you just fry them on the sidewalk some time? Eccch! C'mon, Don-poaching them or making a quiche is the way to go!"

But the turtle was already sprinting away, and Raph scurried after, looking ready to pout as Leo prepared to make a dash for it.

"Quiche?! Poached?! I want in an omelet!"

The little blue-clad turtle began to make a rush for the door, paused, and curiously turned to Mikey, who was washing his face in the nearby basin.

"Coming, Mikey? If not, I'll just ask Masta' Splinter to make omelets and toast for each of us."

Mikey spluttered, sending hundreds of water droplets spinning in every direction.

"W-Wha?" He demanded, as if Leo had questioned the physics of the need to inhale and exhale oxygen.

"I want mine scrambled! Scrambled-ya hear me?!"

Leo just smiled, and shrugged before inching towards the door, dancing from one foot to the other.

"Then come ON, already, Mike!"

Michelangelo hastily scrubbed at his face, and, as Leo began to hurry from the room, glanced over at the small piece of paper still lying on his nightside table with a small sigh of relief. At least his brothers hadn't uncovered it. THAT was one explanation that would either end in someone runnin' to tattle on him to Master Splinter, or insist on accompanying him when he went topside.

And Mikey didn't really want that.

The turtle paused before reaching for a nearby towel-and, unlike his usual routine, actually wiped his tri-fingered hands before carefully reaching for his letter, folding it up into a small square, and slipped the small piece of paper under the thin orange cloth upon the turtle's head.

After a quick glance in the looking glass to confirm that his mask didn't look too irregular-it made crinkly sounds whenever he shifted his head, but that was reasonably controllable-the turtle smiled absentmindedly, then made a dash for the nearby entrance.

No way in HECK was he eating a poached egg....deviled, maybe.

But poached was just plain gross.

~*~*~

At least Master Splinter had had the forseen ordinance to prepare several eggs-though he had insisted that the turtles prepare them their own way. Donatello admittedly could hardly blame the rat-for such tiffs in the Hamato household were common.

At least Mikey's eggs were easy enough to make-though the turtle DID break the shells rather peculiarly, and had to awkwardly pick up the tiny fragments of shell from the gooey yolks. Mikey only prayed his hands would not be too eggy when he actually left his response to Rosa later in the small, aged wooden mailbox. If Rosa got his next letter, he wanted the page immaculately clean-which was most unlike the turtle. Mikey curiously felt his forehead as Splinter "helped" Leo with his own dish. Leo wasn't exactly handy in the culinary department, and had already burned two pieces of toast by mistake.

When all were finally seated at the table, Mikey pensively picked at his meal, throwing a curious glance at Raph-who was smearing ketchup on his eggs, much to Don's disgust-to Splinter, who rarely cared how his eggs were prepared, and simply ate his in quiet good humor-to Don, who had his eggs on toast with grape jelly-a feat that had Raph gagging from across the table-to Leo, who was ignoring his...rather well done eggs at the moment, and had switched to his grape juice, instead.

Mikey picked at his own breakfast, face downcast.

If his brothers knew about his new...correspondent of sorts, would they laugh at him? Tattle? Or both? The turtle moodily stabbed his fork into the canary yellow contents of his plate, and swiveled them around. He wasn't feeling very hungry anymore.

If they knew, they'd want to read his letter. Or speak to Rosa themselves. Mikey bit his lip, and shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

He was well accustomed to sharing practically everything he owned with his family-and quite liked it. Pardoning the comics he sometimes retrieved from the rain gutters-no one but Mikey really cared about those-the few possessions or actions he COULD call his did mean something special to him.

Master Splinter preferred to teach the boys that their bond with one another was more important then any physical thing-but what about the letters? It wasn't getting one in return that was the most satisfying-though he'd been delighted from beyond all doubt last night when he had read Rosa's message.

It was the act of _doing_. Of _knowing_.

That was what made the thought precious to the little turtle-that, and that someone met only by the swiftest of chances-knew about him. And had cared enough to respond.

Mikey took a small sip of milk, his eyes downcast.

He loved his brothers to the hilt-and nothing would ever change that-but what would it be like if he actually kept this secret....secret? A secret that could be called his own? All his-though he was bursting to share it with someone.

But if you have a secret, you want to share it. If you share it-then you don't have one anymore.

And what if Leo DID tell Splinter the truth? Mikey wasn't too sure how the rat would react if he found out he was planning on corresponding to a human-albeit pretty much anymonously. It probably wouldn't end too well. For while the rat did not insist that humans were the epitome of evil-he hardly encouraged them to walk about topside.

Ever.

And, if he had known that Mikey HAD been meandering about on the surface....

The turtle swallowed heavily, causing milk to dribble down his chin. Splinter-who had been wiping his own chin-turned to look at Mikey with a raised eyebrow.

"Michelangelo. Drink in little sips. And don't play with your breakfast-eat it."

Thus, Mikey managed a shrug and a sheepish grin before resuming his meal as his brothers broke out into conversation once again.

"Gee, Mikey-what's wrong? I thought you had a bottomless stomach for an appetite!"

Mikey scoffed.

"Hey! You're to talk, Crater Mouth!"

While playful arguments broke around the table once again, and Mikey was invaraibly obliged to join in the conversation, he did make one final note:

He would keep this secret. And share it with Rosa, if she decided to correspond once again after his reply. It could hardly hurt to do that much.

The paper crackled ever so slightly as Mikey dug into his breakfast, but thankfully, no one noticed.

~*~*~*~

_Your balloon was caught in a nearby branch near the Magnolia tree of the Home. I was just outside, admiring the scent and appearance of such rare and frail beauties....when what should my wandering eyes look upon-a crumpled barrage of silver! I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me-the balloon looked rather lovely in the sunlight. It sent a small, spectrumed rainbow near the roots of the tree whenever it caught the illumination. Twas quite nice._

Mikey liked the way the woman talked. The words sounded pretty. He read on.

_-I could hardly let it sit in the tree all day, and pulled out my wheelchair to perch upon to retrieve it. It was a bit of a job-I'm hardly as young as I used to be-but I did manage, in the end. Bit of a small shame-it did look nice, where it was._

From where the turtle perched on the sofa, he frowned absentmindedly at that.

_Wheelchair....Wheelchair...._

He had seen one of those on the television, right? On one of those Korean soap operas Splinter enjoyed so heartily. They had been pushing a little Japanese boy down a hallway clutching what looked to be a rather familiar looking green and purple plushie in one of those.

He had asked Donny about it-and the young Einstein had only vaguely said that wheelchairs were for people who couldn't get around easily-if at all. So, they remained sitting down-but just kept moving their seat.

Huh. Sounded like a good idea. If Donny could ever remake one or two of them, it would be awesome to have two to race up and down the sewers with-two pushing, two sitting....

He sighed dreamily at the thought. Now he was going to have to beg Donny to see if he couldn't replicate the effect of a normal "wheelchair."

But that brought up a peculiar thought in the small turtle. Why had Rosa been sitting on one near "The Home?" Was she sick? Did she break a leg? Probably not-seeing as she could stand-albeit kinda wobbily, as she put it.

He bent to look at the woman's spiky handwriting once again.

_Am not quite sure why I am writing. I recognized your handwriting as that of a child's-and I pondered the idea of you leaving your address to the balloon in case it should wander away-rather like one would leave an address to a dog or cat's collar. I am sorry to say that while your balloon is ruined....it did brighten up my day a bit, and I did wish to thank you for that._

_It is getting late. Time passes, as is it's ought. I must have George send this out in the morning. Do take care._

Rosa. ^^

Well.

With the utmost care, Mikey pulled out the paper from underneath his mask, and carefully folded the piece into an envelope-shape. Shame he didn't have any real ones. But then again, it was extraordinarily lucky for Splinter to find any still useful stationary at all from the storm gutter. More then often, the storms simply tore the pages apart, and left a sodden mess in its wake.

Luckily, stamps-as long as they were complacently stuck onto their plastic paper-were a bit more resilient. The Hamatos rarely had use for stamps-and while Mikey occasionally liked to tug out a pretty-colored one to befit his latest masterpiece that was to be hung on the small plastic fridge they owned-they most often remained in the kitchen drawer most of the time.

Mikey carefully placed two stamps on the paper, wincing after he had licked each one. Post Office glue was hardly going to make it as a candy flavoring.

Raph had once said that if you didn't put the right number of stamps on the envelope, the post man would only deliver it halfway-before dumping it in some chasm deep within the Earth. Mikey didn't know whether or not that was true, but he thought he would rather not take a chance. Vermont was the next state over-hopefully two stamps would suffice. It had been what Rosa had done.

He tugged out Rosa's original letter (He had stored that in a shoebox he had buried under his comic collection) and envelope, clumsily copying the address with a small pencil. He certainly hoped the mailman could make out his writing well enough.

It was two in the afternoon-and training had ended just thirty minutes ago. The Hamatos were to go scavaging around half past-which was when Mikey hoped to be able to sneak to the surface and quickly deliver his letter before anyone took notice of his absence. He would just have to be quick on his toes-because there wouldn't be a chance later tonight. Normally, the turtles had to sort their new material once they got back-then immediately have a small wash, dinner, an actual bath, and bed.

Splinter would be up for quite some time tonight-probably longer then Mikey could stay awake. Apparently, he was watching Matthew and Veronica's wedding tonight-only for Steven and Kylde to announce that Matthew was, in actuality, Veronica's ex-half-brother-twice-removed. There would be no sneaking past the rat. Mikey had tried it in training-and regularly failed.

Nope.

He had this one shot, and had to take it-before Rosa forgot that he had sent a letter in the first place. Mikey didn't want to wait until tomorrow!

~*~*~

"Whether, whether, whether, whether, whether you like it or not...."

Mikey hummed to himself as he casually continued to skip the old rope, feet repeatably disappearing and reappearing in a blur.

"....weather, weather, weather, weather, weather is cold, warm, and hot!"

Raph groaned.

"Ah, geez-Mikey, c'mon, already, ya knucklehead. Masta' Splinta says we gotta get more stuff! Did ya fill your bag already?"

Mikey helplessly gestured to the already overstuffed sack beside him, looking bored.

"Yep. I can't help it that I'm faster then you, Raphey boy."

The red clad turtle just groaned again-but with Splinter three feet away, the little big guy was hardly willing to make too much of a fuss. Instead, he bent by the canal bank once again, something silver catching his eye.

Donatello hummed absentmindedly next to the rat while they sifted through the rain drains for anything that caught their interest, and Don was currently poking at a small, plastic toy robot with a stick.

Mikey anxiously shifted from one foot to the other, feeling apphrensive. Normally, the turtle rarely found sewer scouring a disagreeable activity. Quite the contrary, actually.

But today, he was so full of anticipation, he felt liable to explode as he anxiously twitched, unconciously pacing.

Dare he make a run for it already?

Mikey cleared his throat somewhat lightly, glancing down at his small, slightly wet bag.

"Um, guys? I'm going to...uh..."

What was the word Don so often used?

".....backtrack a bit. I think I saw something interesting back there that...I wanna go see, so until then, buh-b-"

"Michelangelo!"

Just as the turtle had been ready to leave, the rat's stern voice firmly broke out. Mikey winced as Splinter's onyx orbs flashed to him.

"Just what exactly are you doing? What is your hurry?"

Mikey just shrugged, heart pounding like a drum beneath his plastron.

"I dunno. Tell ya about it later. See ya!"

"Mich-"

And with that, the turtle took off, intersecting before Splinter could speak once again.

The old rat paused, then wearily groaned, his clawed hand under his chin.

~*~*~

At last.

The turtle hastily scurried up the rusted ladder, praying-from beyond all doubt-that one of his brothers would not follow.

Or worse-Splinter. The rat quite regularly threatened the turtles-beyond any doubt-to stay underground. Mikey whimpered as he thought of the many bottom-whackings he would receive if the rat knew that he had been up here ONCE....though Raph had already seemed to have forgotten the one time he had caught Mikey up there....

Forcing the sewer grate aside, Mikey took a grateful rush of the fresh air he so rarely had chance to breathe in, wincing as a hail of sunlight poured down from the heavens upon his own brow.

The turtle moved a hand to protect his eyes from the dazzling sunlight, though he had to admit-it felt good upon his skin. It felt nice. It felt right.

Mikey's heart sank as he cautiously inched towards a nearby torn box in the nearby alley, carefully pondering the road in front of him-and avoiding the smashed green powder of a broken bottle from behind him. People and their trash.

For a few minutes, he did not move. But not noting any cars, the turtle hastily tugged his cloak's hood over his head (Master Splinter noted that it could get drafty in the upper levels) and, without any other thought, tore across the street, breathing ragged as he forced open the old mailbox, and hastily pulled his letter from his pocket-only to thrust it in the mailing box once again.

Mikey sighed in relief as he began to remove his hand-only to brush it against something else. Curious, the turtle withdrew a tiny packet of paper-

One with his name upon it.

~*~*~

It had not taken long for Mikey to withdraw back near the old box, trembling fingers carefully prying the paper open.

Rosa had wrote something else? There was a small bulge in the tiny packet-one that was no larger then his fist-but what else had the woman to say? A PS, maybe?

As Mikey shakingly turned the opened packet upside down, something small fell into his hands, along with a thin scrap of paper. The turtle blinked, and considered the small, odd item in his hands for a moment or two.

What was this?

He shook it, looking puzzled. Mikey turned it about, felt the rather hard exterior, and shrugged absentmindedly before hastily tucking in the small scrap of paper into his pocket before dropping into the sewers once again-leaving behind the only sign that Mikey had ever indeed been topside at all-the rattling mancover.

~*~*~

As Mikey slid down to the bottom of the ladder, he pondered again the strange little....thing he now held in his hands.

What was it? What was Rosa trying to say with it?

The orange clad turtle started as Don's voice echoed over from the corner.

"Hey, MIKEY! C'MON! We're moving on to the next sector! You comin', or what?"

Mikey hastily stowed away the odd...whatchamacallit into his pocket before hurrying ahead.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!"


	4. Lights

The Silver Balloon

Lights

バストークン! バラのつぼみ! …か。何!

Hallo, everyone. Forgive me for taking so long...bit of family and school drama running about, but I believe I'm alrighty, now.

This chapter is a bit of a silly one....something perhaps a bit more lighthearted then the others. None of us want to see Mikey in trouble, so he's just going to take it easy for a little bit.

In the meantime, please, take care, everyone.

* * *

Quote:

_"To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart." ~Phyllis Theroux_

_~*~*~_

Don's hand closed over a small stone that was resting on the bay nearby. Squinting ever so slightly, the turtle examined the small piece of stone, then slowly turned to face the canal once again, holding the little rock inbetween the tips of his index finger and thumb.

....well, he liked to believe it was a thumb, but as no one was quite sure, they opted it was one, anyway.

With a light thrust, the little scientist sent the rock flying into the air, watching it skid lightly on the dark waters of the canal, skipping lightly, once, twice, three times-

_Ploonk!_

Awww. Don's face twitched in disappointment, but the turtle shrugged it off, opting to instead toss another nearby rock that lay at his feet into the water, listening to the satisfying _ploonk_! that reverberated throughout the tunnel as the stone sank to the canal bottom, light ripples spreading across the surface of the still churning rapids of the water. Don peered into its depths for a minute or so-his murky, quite wavery reflection staring back-but the stone had already beeen slipped away in pace with the current.

Splinter's voice echoed from somewhere to his right.

"Donatello. Do not lean in so close, my son. You will fall in...again."

Wrinkling his nose at the memory, Don hesitantly took a step or two back, peering about himself with a light frown.

"Hey. Where'd Mikey go?"

Raph made a sound caught between a snort and a sigh. Don frowned at him.

"It's been a good twenty minutes, already." Don's voice began to rise ever so slightly.

"D'you suppose he's okay?"

Raph scowled absentmindedly before grabbing a discarded piece of bark, and hurled it into the churny foam of the sewage rain canals.

"That bozo? Leave him alone for five minutes and ya get worried." Raph's face scrunched up slightly.

"....m'not sayin' that's not without good reason, Donny, but-"

Leo started lightly from somewhere on Raph's left. The sound of scurrying feet began to echo throughout the faded rock of the tunnel, and Splinter's head pricked up lightly before relaxing and exhaling.

"Michelangelo," he commented dryly, before returning to tie the small sack still at his feet shut once again. "That's his step."

And, sure enough, Mikey soon appeared from the next corner, hood flapping oddly from behind him as he amiably rushed over, something tightly clenched within his fist. Splinter finished tying his bag in a neat and steady knot, and slowly stood to his full height, dark eyes trailing over to a now sheepish Michelangelo, who was now walking rather then jogging.

"S-Sorry, Sensei," the small turtle squeaked anxiously after coming to a full stop in front of the rat, yellow crest on his chest still heaving as the turtle struggled to take a breath, face slightly flushed as he at last wordlessly opened his fist, and extended it to the bemused rat in front of him.

Leo curiously took a tentative step forward, his face becoming slightly confused as Splinter bent over the small object in Mikey's hand. Raph skeptically peered at the small object once before casting Mikey an incredulous look.

"You stayed behind for THAT little thing?"

He cocked his head to one side, then the other, squinting slightly.

"....whatever...."that" is?"

Donny stopped his stone skipping, and began to make his way over, just as Mikey finally regained enough breath to speak once again.

"M-Master Splinter? What's t-this?"

Splinter's fingers closed over the small object in Mikey's hot little palm, and turned it over carefully. As Don made his way to their side, brown eyes flickered curiously over at the odd object-and then brightened with slight recognition.

"Ooh! I know! I know! That's an, uh..."

He paused.

".....um....."

Most unlike him, the turtle followed, face slightly scrunched up as he tried to recall where on Earth he had seen the thing. Splinter blinked for a moment or two before, at last-recognition began to flicker into midnight orbs.

"Oh."

His voice sounded surprised-and Leo crowded around him to poke at the small object.

"So...what'd Mikey find, Master?"

Splinter held the small object between the tips of his fingers under the dim lighting that maintenance had placed over this now abandoned shifting canal.

"Oh," he said once again, still sounding lightly surprised. "I am....surprised that you managed to find one of these underground, my son."

Was it just him, or did Splinter sound slightly suspicious? Mikey swallowed past the lump in his throat, and managed a nervous chuckle.

"Yeah. Just luck to find one of these beauties underground." He paused.

"....what is it, again?"

Splinter cracked a smile.

"This, my sons, is a bulb."

Raph blinked for a moment or two, then shot a bewildered glance at the buzzing, flickering lights above them. At this, Splinter let out a small chuckle.

"No, my son. A rose bulb. A seed."

Donny smacked his forehead with a groan. Oh. So THAT had been where he'd read about them. One rainy afternoon-with nothing better to do, Donny had fished out a copy of Better Homes and Gardens to read. It hadn't been particularly interesting, but it beat watching Mikey aimlessly through pingpong ball after pingpong ball directly at the wall.

Leo turned the small, shriveled seed about in Splinter's clawed hands.

"Was this what you stayed for, Mikey?"

The orange-clad turtle shrugged, one hand still wrapped around the as of yet unread scrap of white paper still deep within his pocket.

"I dunno. I though there might be some cool stuff-and I didn't know what this thingie was, so I asked." He shrugged again.

_Rose bulb. Rosa. Heh. I get it, now._

Raph, already bored, picked up a small rock beside his ankle, and hurled it into the canal.

"So....what's it do?" he asked dully, doing his best not to sound interested as Splinter chuckled.

"The same thing as a seed does, Raphael. Grow." The rat turned the little object about, scanning it skeptically.

"It has been awhile seince I have seen one of these...." he mused aloud. "I...believe this one will still be alright..."

Much to Mikey's disappointment, Splinter tucked the object within his pocket, but not before winking at Mikey.

"Much beauty can come from such a small thing, my son," the rat commented, before patting Mikey briefly upon the head, and reaching for his nearby bag.

"When we get home, let us plant it. I have a small pot still in my dojo..."

* * *

~*~*~

In the midst of socking a minion upside the head with the console controller, Mikey uncertainly turned his head about to face an old, cracked pot on the other side of the room.

There, he knew-the bulb was now resting comfortably under a large amount of warm, moist potting soil Splinter had found unopened and discarded in the sewers, under a nearby lightbulb.

But the rat had decided that he would leave the small plant underneath a sewer grate for awhile-as he insisted "artifical sunlight" was no sunlight at all-and that the plant needed fresh air in order to thrive. Mikey exhaled slightly.

It seemed everyone did, at one point or another.

Mikey turned his face back to the screen, where he was now half-heartedly engaged in combat with a small zombie. Pausing his level, Mikey stretched, stood up, and then ambled over to the couch, where his zip-up jacket was waiting.

Don was reading a book on the easy chair, and not taking too much in. Raph was playing with chalk outside the home (Hopefully not _breaking_ said chalk once again) Leo was busy "helping" Master Splinter with dinner (Though the rat assured him that the best way for him to help was to set the table, and then help clean up afterwards.) Stomach churning at the memory of when Leo had attempted to make each of his brothers breakfast in bed-he hadn't even known it was possible to ruin cereal-he shook the thought off, and pulled out the small scrap of paper that still rested in his pocket, though by now, he had read a multitude of times:

_Ooops. Forgot this, dear. Just a token of what you may stumble upon when you venture beyond altitude._

_....literally._

_Do take care._

_~Rosa._

Hopefully, she would soon get his next letter. Though it seemed decent to leave a small note himself....

Flicking the television off, Mikey reached for his small, cluttered box of markers, and a woebegone sketchpad. Flicking amiably through the pages, he at last found one clean on both sides, and began to scribble:

_Thanks, Rosa. I had to go to Mas...._

He paused, scrubbed out the M-A-S letters with a black marker before resuming.

_"-my dad to see what it was. We don't see too many rose seeds or stuff 'round here. Not very often, anyhoo. _

Mikey tapped his marker against his chin for a moment or two, then dipped his marker down once again:

_My Dad says that the bulb will probably grow. Do you think it will? I hope it does. Do Magnolia trees come from bulbs? Do you have skyscrapers in Vermont where you live? I don't get to see them very much myself-but at night, every office building and dumb insurance company window sparkles, because there are lights everywhere. My brother Donny once said there's no need to be scared of the dark when New York City uses more then a metric ton worth of elek...alleacktici.....elllletric...._

He scrubbed the words out.

_"-lighting each year. Everything glows at night, and it goes all red, gold, and yellow, with bunches of red taillights from the cars below. If you squint, the colors run into each other, and they become a blur of everything, especially when you look over a building or somethin', and get the whole view of the city underneath you, like it's the whole world under your feet. Sometimes, it makes you dizzy, and you hafta hold onto something, because then the world seems very, very large, and ready to swallow you up from so high. Or sometimes you ask, "Is this it?" and feel sad. But mostly, I like New York. You don't see too many stars near the big city at night, but my dad says people try to make stars on the Earth. It's not the same, but they're still pretty. Like on Christmas and stuff, when Times Square is decorated for the holidays. Or for New Year's Eve. I've seen it on TV when they count down till midnight. Sometimes, they set off fireworks. It's really, really cool to see all the colorful explosions booming around the place. My Dad says that me and my brothers are his own piso...persi-personal stash of ones that go out with a big bang. :D A lot of times, they'll send fireworks on Ondependanse or something day on July Fourth."_

That sounded good. Mikey watched Don flick a page of his book, and began to scribble once again.

_"Take care, Rosa. My Dad planted the bulb. I hope it grows soon. What color will it be? I hope it's not red. I would like to see an orange rose, but any other color-then red-would be okay, I guess. Do roses just come in red, white, and pink? I saw something like that on TV during Valentines Day._

_If roses CAN come in other colors, can they be orange or blue or purple? That would be pretty weird, if they were natural flowers, and not paper or somethin'."_

_He pondered his words once again._

_"Well-orange wouldn't be fake or weird. Roses probably want to look their best-and orange is the best way of doin' it, I think. Orange is happy and sunny. If I leave the bulb underneath a lot of sun, will that make it orange or yellow? My brother Donny talked about somethin' that had to do with as....accid...acidac...acidic and basic soil affecting the color, but it all looks like dirt to me._

_See ya!"_

_Mikey_

Mikey smiled absentmindedly, and began to fold his letter up. He paused for another second, then scurried to a nearby drawer, and tugged it open. Don turned another page of his novel as Mikey eagerly pulled out a small bus token.

The Hamatos had found an overturned box of the things just last week. But, seeing as they would never use a bus to begin with, what worth were they? Still, Mikey and Leo had decided to take a few home to play TiddlyWinks with.

He hurried back to the rug, plopped back down onto his stomach, and began to scribble on the page again:

_P.S: You left me something from the country, so you can have this. Can you guess what it is? I bet you can't! ^^_

The turtle dropped the small, irregularly shaped coin into the envelope, and winced at the taste as he licked the seal. Yeeeuuucchh. Gross Post office glue.

At last, Donny looked up as Mikey carefully shut his letter into a drawer, and closed his book.

"Hey, Mikey? Whatcha doin'?"

The orange-clad turtle simply shrugged as he pushed against the drawer with his shell to reshut it.

"Meh. Doodling."

Mikey feverently hoped his voice was reasonably nonchalant. He'd always been a rotten liar. To waver from the slightly skeptical look in Don's eyes, the turtle quickly gestured towards the TV.

"Feel like watching a movie?"

Don cast him a look, but said nothing as Mikey nervously pressed an old videocassette into the player, and settled down next to Mikey on the rug against the couch. The turtle heartily released his breath into a relieved sigh as Disney commercials airing for movies already long since shipped in 1993.

~*~*~*~

Again, it was evening. Something scuttled away from Mikey as he carefully crept towards the nearby mailbox once again, breathing heavy.

A few days had passed. Mikey had thought it best not to make so many frequent risks as he did. It would only make Sensei and the others suspicious, and he feared it would only be a matter of time before one of his brothers commenced with following him.

Carefully tucking his hood more tightly about himself under the dim, buzzing streetlight, Mikey carefully placed the small envelope into the old wood, slamming the lid shut before carefully moving the little red flag up once again.

Smiling lightly, the little turtle began to turn around for the alley, but hesitated in mid-step. Large eyes swiveled to face the dark sky.

A dog barked somewhere in the distance as Mikey inhaled the muggy air. A siren screamed its shrill whistle somewhere. For a second, the turtle hesitated under the opaque clouds, and closed his eyes.

_Sometimes, they set off fireworks. It's really, really cool to see all the colorful explosions booming around the place...._

Opening his eyes, Mikey exhaled. It'd be wicked awesome to actually GO to one of those celebrations....

Mikey's shoulders drooped for a moment, and then straightened.

Well, TV wasn't the same thing, but it wasn't half bad. Speaking of which-!

The orange-clad turtle started.

What time was it? Oh, crud....

Mentally smacking himself about the face, Mikey made a beeline for the nearby alley, relieved that no cars were currently passing by.

He and his brothers had agreed to watch a scary movie tonight-though, hopefully, Splinter wouldn't find out. Mikey heaved the great disk away from the chasm, and cheerfully lowered himself within the darkness that was home.

Hopefully, he still had a few minutes before it started. He was in the mood for popcorn-and lots of it.


	5. Soil

The Silver Balloon

Soil

異なった花はまだ土および日曜日を浸す。 ^^

Salutations, everybody! I hope you're well. I had to give this one a bit of a small head-scratcher here and there. I really have no definite plot for this story yet-just a shaky outline.

By the time you read this, ACTS are over. *Whew, wipes brow.* Right now, I envy my future self....*Sighs.* Ah, well. In any case, I wanted to celebrate with an update or two. :D I can only hope I have at least this update done by Thursday. *Grrrs, looks determined.*

The muse is on, and I am praying for the merry month of May to come-and Summer to sweep the Earth once again! *Sighs dreamily.* That is, if I don't have to take any classes during the Summer....*Swallows, sways on feet.* Oh, dear....

Well, in any case, for my dear readers and reviewers, recyclablefoxx, Butterfly Meadow, Phantom77, JoyJababaNoid, Mikell, MelodyWinters, RaND0mnESS, PlainSimpleGarak, and milliondollarninja-

^^ Doomo arigatou gozaimasu! Thank you very much!

Please, take care, everyone.

* * *

Quote:

_"Let me arise and open the gate,_  
_To breathe the wild warm air of the heath,_  
_And to let in Love, and to let out Hate,_  
_And anger at living and scorn of Fate,_  
_To let in Life, and to let out Death."_**  
**- Violet Fane

He knew he tasted victory as soon as his fingertips brushed against the silky smoothness that promised the presence of paper. His breathing once again hitched, and Mikey eagerly tugged out the small envelope-which, sure enough, bore the old fashioned script on the front.

That was Rosa's handwriting, alright. Feeling giddy, Mikey nonchalantly tucked the small piece of paper into his oversized jacket pocket-and turned from the ancient mailbox, eyes carefully scanning the deserted streets.

It was a warm and sunny afternoon-but surprisingly enough, not really any activity on the roads, today. While waiting for it to be safe to pass the street to the old, boarded up ruin's mailbox, the orange-clad turtle noted only three or four cars passing through. Then again, this particular region of New York was rather shady-and none frequented it too often-pardoning late night outings...where he knew they lurked-in the dark.

Mikey shivered, even as the sun cheerily continued to shine through the thick fabrics hiding his shell. The small turtle quickly glanced about himself-made a dash for the alleys once again, devoutly thankful that the oversized fedora covered his head rather nicely. One time, in coming to check the mailbox-he had peered down at a puddle, his own reflection staring interestedly at him.

He looked, perhaps-a bit peculiar, but Mikey thought he looked rather handsome in it. Kind of like that one guy with the fedora had looked like in that kissy kissy goo goo movie with no color that Splinter loved so much.

Mikey hummed lightly under his breath as he pried open the heavy sewer manhole cover, wincing as he did so. It certainly was a large, blunt, and heavy object. Maybe he could use it to go sledding one day-or, pardoning that, a trash can lid.

With that bright thought in his mind, Mikey at least heaved the small grate open, and began to slide into the hungry crevice, foot finding the rusty ladder.

As he climbed down into the dim gloom of the sewers, he gently released the metallic lid-but the result was that it fell back to Earth with a BANG, shattering through the calm, quiet, _drip-drip-drip_atmosphere like thunder.

Mikey froze as the sound continuously echoed throughout the tunnels, and his hands flew almost immediately to his pockets, as his heart began to pound underneath the yellow crest upon his chest. The panicked turtle silently landed on the floor, staggered back, eyes frantically fluttering about the tunnels, ears pricked for the sound of running footsteps pattering against the sewer rock.

......but none came. Mikey's breathing eased slightly, as did his rapid heartbeat. Another minute or two went by.

No Leo, no Raph, no Don, and certainly no Master Splinter. The little turtle's eyes fluttered shut, and he exhaled heavily, sinking onto the comforting warm wood of an old crate he had kept near the rusted steps near the manhole. About this time on fair days, a few rays of sunlight would fall upon it from the grate a little ways up from the wall-near the open manhole. It was rather nice to sit near-plus, well...Mikey did have a habit of slipping from the bottom step, and was still too short to make the steep drop directly to the bottom. Ah, well. At least Raph didn't know better to torment him about it. There was only an inch or so difference in height between them-but Raph always seemed to have that stupid half-inch on Mikey whenever Master Splinter did their monthly measuring-and lined them up at the wall.

Mikey waited for his heartbeat to slow down a bit-then, he reached inside of his parka, and pulled out the slip of precious paper. Not counting Rosa's recent gift, this was his second letter. It was just as-if not more so-precious as his first.

A small, goofy smile spread across the turtle's face, and he eagerly began to tear at the envelope. A small token of him wanted to very slowly, very carefully rip the paper open-but he had done that with the last letter. Rosa had responded once again-and Mikey was desperate to see whether or not she had found his reply annoying or not. He halted in tearing the paper for a second. Suppose she was?

But Rosa didn't seem like that type of person from her writings, so the turtle continued to tear the top of the envelope-avoiding the paper he knew to be in there. The last thing he wanted to do was to mutilate the message.

It felt rather fun, having a secret pen-pal of sorts. And Mikey had to rush out under the city lights to retrieve the message in a ruined mailbox-just like in a James Bond movie. Except....were there ninjas in James Bond? Mikey didn't know. But close enough. He just didn't have spy-gear, a tuxedo-or really cool shades. Yet. At least he now knew what to ask for his birthday.

Rosa's pink-flower stationary fell into his hands-and Mikey was surprised to feel how gritty the paper felt. He cautiously rubbed at the page, now feeling slightly confused. Perhaps the envelope or something had been dusty?

But his eyes fell upon Rosa's spiky, elegant-if not somewhat difficult to read-handwriting, and such thoughts were almost immediately vacated.

_Dear Mikey,_

_You can't see it, but I'm blushing pink to the roots, right now. A pretty name, eh? I bet you say that to all the girls, you charmer. ^^_

_Thank you so much for the bus token, dear. At first, I had no idea what on Earth it was-a foreign coin, perhaps? I asked George to take a crack at it-but he seemed just as perplexed as I was. Then, while I waved hello to Helen one day, (my postmistress)-I decided to take a chance. I pulled it out of my pocket, and I inquired to know whether or not she could identify the little piece._

_It took her a minute or two, but Helen finally recognized it as a bus token-like those she had seen while visiting her cousin in New York. A very thoughtful gift, my dear-and now I know what to do should I ever wish to come to the city. :) Thank you._

_Ah-the rose bud made it? Good. I was not at all certain it would-I wished to send it in the original letter, but seeing as how I'd lose my head if it weren't fastened on, I did forget-and had to send it via a second note. Thank you, my dear boy._

_I must admit, I began to laugh again when I read your theory upon rose colors-and your query on whether or not roses would be orange or yellow if left in a great deal of sunlight. It does make sense, doesn't it? Bill, our gardener, once attempted to explain the theory on how acidic properties will enhance the coloration and hue of certain blooms by using the PH scale....but, a silly woman must confess-I nearly fell asleep during his lecture. He is a kind one, though-and the particular bulb I sent was one he helped me pick out._

_*Laughs.* Roses come in many hues and types, dear Michelangelo. Just as people do. ^^ I take it you're not the largest friend of red? *Laughs again.*_

_Red, white, and pink are rather popular rose types. White symbolizes cleanliness, purity, and innocence, while Red stands for passion and love. (I hope you're not retching by this point, son. ^^) Pink stands for sweethearts, or for friendship._

_Giving flowers is a popular way of expressing affection or whatnot-always has been. Flowers always leave some of their fragrance on the hand that bestows them, Mikey._

_A blue rose? Indeed! Such a very interesting idea-but they cannot bloom naturally. Bulbs may be genetically altered to transfer a bloom's color, but it may be a bit of an odd effect. Still, it will grow, just the same. I asked Bill about it-and he says that blue roses are thought to mean mystery, love at first sight, wisdom, or enchantment. Violet roses DO bloom-and they stand for majesty, gentle affection, royalty, or..."treading cautiously on dangerous ventures." ^^ Heh. Orange roses can also naturally bloom-as they stand for eagerness, impetuous or irrational behavior, energy, and admiration._

_As for the color of your particular bulb? You'll see. ^^ I was going to opt with pink...but thankfully, Bill advised me otherwise...! I doubt you would care for the color very much. My grandson Christopher believes that pink readily attracts "cooties", like flypaper. Heh._

_You have a very lovely description of the city, my dear boy. George enjoys the quiet of the country retirement has given him, but I do believe a part of him still loves the city. He certainly talks about it enough-though your description was awfully vivid. It sounds as if a hundred thousand captive stars are sparkling like diamonds on the face of the Earth. It sounds breathtaking._

_As a little girl, I grew up on my grandfather's farm in Vermont. While I have shifted back and forth between country and suburbs in my life, I must admit that my heart is oft found in the countryside. The more trees to be found-the more to scatter up and climb, even if it meant a few scrapes here and there-the better. I spent my childhood idly dreaming (if I wasn't helping Father outside in the fruit orchards or Mother with the jams or cooking in the kitchen) on the swing hanging from an enormous oak near the barn doors, or about in the woods or meadows-that I was off somewhere else, having misadventures in such wild, excitable, and glowing places such as the city. I read about them more then often in my books-and it seemed to me a kingdom of excitement, of wonder-of something new each and every turn._

_Not much changed in the countryside-seasons came, and seasons went. In the Summer, after catching fireflies and letting them go off again-I'd lie on my stomach on the old swing and flutter back and forth, back and forth, flinging my sandals on and off. I remember on one occasion-one went flying off into the gorse bush-and I never did find it. Ah, well. My brother Paul did think it hilarious as we rummaged through the brushes, looking for it._

_The grass was damp and cool-and swished past one's feet in the morning and late evenings. The sun went down rather late, and it took a jolly while before the stars began to peer down from the sky. Sometimes, I'd take a peach from the orchard and go down to certain glades or clearings in the woods I found while exploring. I'd look at the stars beginning to soundlessly explode into the sky, one after another after another. My uncle Albert picked out a few choice constellations, and occasionally I'd pick them out while lying about in the grass, or on a very oddly shaped log. I was a silly, absentminded little girl-I sometimes fell asleep out there-or in the barn loft, with hay for a blanket and pillow. ^^ On nights with full moons, the world was covered in a soft glow, and it was nearly as easy for one to get about outside as they did in the day._

_Because I brought peaches to eat so often in the evenings, my Mother insisted that I wash up in the stream before coming back to the house for Supper or bedtime. I always did eat sloppily then-and had sticky fruit juice all over me. ^^ Everything I touched became a sticky mess. I do believe it very nearly drove Father crazy. ^^_

_Forgive a silly old woman, Michelangelo. The hour here is late-and I hope not to dry out yet another pen. George nearly cried when I informed him I had worn through another set of pencils last Thursday._

_Hope is where you find life. And in life is where one finds hope, dear boy. Please take care. And thank you so much for your letters-they are such a pleasure to read._

_-Rosa_

Mikey blinked for a moment or two as he peered into the envelope. There was something in there....

Finally, it dawned upon the bemused turtle, and he reached into the envelope, giggling lightly as the warm, dry soil rasped slightly against his fingertips.

Rosa had sent soil from her garden. Other then sending a mud pie, there was nothing Mikey could have appreciated more. Least it explained why the letter had been so gritty. But he couldn't bring himself to care very much.

He rolled a tiny white sphere that had tumbled out onto his palm about between his index finger-or, well, Donny SAID that it was an index finger-and his thumb (Which, again, he was not at all certain WAS one...but the turtle could guess.

The tiny white sphere eventually faded into fine powder on his fingertips, and Mikey absentmindedly brushed his hands off on his sides, letter perched in his lap.

Stretching lightly, Mikey stood after a minute or two, carefully retucking the letter and the dirt back into his parka's old pockets. Feeling pleased, the turtle exhaled, then began to scurry down the sewer canal, mind set for home.

He would have to send another answer in reply soon. The anticipation of _waiting_-waiting, and wondering if that someone had gotten your message-was too much fun to resist, and Mikey wanted to drag out his crayons as soon as he get back. Hopefully, he'd be able to find another stamp by-

"Oooof!"

Mikey let out a short cry as he lost his footing on the slippery edge of the canal water-tripped, and-!

"Aggggh!"

With a particularly loud THUMP! that resonated through the tunnels so easily giving him away, Mikey let out a short squawk, and fell onto his stomach near the edge, watching stars erupt about his vision. The hat had fallen off his face, directly in front of him.

Where something-or someone-else was perched, gazing at the orange-clad turtle skeptically.

* * *

Leo hurried forward with a small frown as Mikey uneasily staggered up, wincing lightly as he rubbed irritably at his now sore chest. Owww.

But, discomfort soon forgotten, the orange-clad turtle's eyes immediately juxtaposed to his brother, who was now carefully walking past the damp cement where Mikey had slipped-and where the sewer canal water was sloshing and slurping against the old stone.

"Hey, Mikey."

The turtle finally hopped onto a drier bit of stone before transferring his gaze back to his now slightly panicking brother.

"You alright? And...."

Leo paused, stooped, and picked up the slightly damp fedora, staring at it before uncertainly shaking the excess water droplets from the brim into the canal once more. His brow furrowed.

"...what...exactly are you....wearing?"

A small lump began to rise to Mikey's chest, but, as Leo's arms crossed, he knew immediately that he had to come up with an answer. Now.

On the score of tattling, Leo was the one who you could trust when it came to confidentiality, but the moment that you did something that seemed just _the little bit_ dangerous-like going bowling with old broken bottles, or surfing on the canal after a storm had just hit, or....climbing up to the surface on multiple occasions to correspond with a human...

Oh, yeah. There was no doubt about it: Leo would tattle. Mikey swallowed, then dramatically swished around, oversized coat flailing behind him.

"...I...uh..."

Inspiration flashed into his mind.

"...I was dressing up like _Zorro_! What d'you think?"

Leo just sighed, and shook his head for a moment or two.

"....Zorro," he said flatly. Mikey only hoped that the turtle didn't note his approaching panic-or the casual drift of his hand to his pocket.

Leo squinted at him, frowning lightly. "...uh, Mike? Zorro wears BLACK. And a mask."

Mikey twirled about once again.

"So? I wear one, too!"

"Yeah, but it's not like Zorro's, y'know. Zorro's the guy with the whip and sword."

Mikey pouted.

"I don't have a whip-just my nimchai. And you're the sword-guy, Leo."

The blue-clad turtle just shrugged.

"Yeah, well, whatever. You kinda look like that guy who solves his problems with his fists on that kissy kissy goo goo movie with the plane."

Leo absentmindedly tugged at Mikey's hand as the two strolled down the dark canals, water sloshing about the dirty undersides of the gleaming tunnels as they did so.

"C'mon, Zorro. Sensei says we hafta train now."

Mikey had never been so willing to oblige for such in his life as he hurried behind his brother, hands still faucetted around the light bulge in his pocket as he did so.

"C'mon. Master Splinter says we gotta train."


	6. Glow

The Silver Balloon

Glow

多彩なライト! すべては夜に光っている

Hallo, everyone. I do hope you're all well. Forgive me for taking so long.....yet again. *Groans, slaps forehead.* I am not the brightest bulb on the Hanukkah bush.....

Ah, well. ^^ This chapter is somewhat peculiar...and Mikey better watch his step, because it's getting just a little bit risky to venture in and out for Rosa's letters at this point....poor dear.

Please, take care, everyone.

* * *

_Quote:_

_"If you have it, you want to share it. If you share it-then you don't have one anymore._

_What be I?"_

_(A secret.) _

_Dear Rosa, _

_Am I a charmer? Cooool. I was watching one of my Dad's soap operas the other day, and one of the girls (I THINK her name was Veronica, but it might have been her evil twin, Melissa) accused Brad or Klyde (I don't know who it was either) of being a "ladies man." Is that the same thing as being charming? Cos', heh, I know I am, but no one around here will tell me what a 'ladies' man' is. _

_I'm glad you liked the bus token! I sometimes play tiddly-winks with them, cos' we don't hafta use them, mainly cos'....._

_........we live in the heart of NYC, and we can just...walk to places. My Dad says it's healpher...hettier......hartier.....better for you, anyhow._

_Thanks for the dirt. :D I thought about throwing clumps of it at Raph when he made fun of my 'Zorro' costume, but I thought it would better to keep it. I put some of it in that pot with the rose bulb planted inside. We keep it warm and wet and in the sun, but nothin' yet. My brother Donny is actually doing ix...ox.....iiixpiriemints....tests with the plant, to see if it will grow faster if you talk to it. Some people say that helps, though I don't know why it would. Still, I'm going to read the latest issue of 'Silver Sentry' to it, just in case. I think it'll be ixsited or something when it hears about the Justice Force kicking some major can, and maybe it'll grow faster. Still nothing yet. I'm hoping the flower is pretty, though don't tell Raph that. I think he'd just stomp on it if he knew._

_I guess I wouldn't mind a red rose, though I've never had a rose before, and I kinda hope it'll be something bright. Yellow is a nice color, too. If the flower is white, I can color it blue, right? :) That would make Leo happy._

_Ewwww. It's not pink? Good. I don't think I like pink. I don't see it too much, but it's a sickish color with sickish stuff in them. Chris is right-pink is a cootie catcher!_

_And giving flowers....that sounds pretty, but again-don't tell Raph I said that. I wish I could give my dad flowers, but...._

_......they don't grow around here very much. Too much concrete, n'stuff. Hardly anyone in the city owns a garden (or even a flowa' box) though, so I guess it's okay. It's nice to have one flower, though._

_Hey, are there boy flowers and girl flowers? You sent us a boy flower, right? I don't mind a girl flower, but when Leo and Raph laughed at me for asking if the plant was a boy or a girl, Donny said YES, plants do have gin....gon......are boys or girls! HA! When Donny said that-and he's really, really smart, cos he reads the livelong day-Leo said he thinks the plant is a boy. Donny says there's no way of telling, but he hopes it'll be a boy. Raph tries to pretend he doesn't care-but I think he wants a boy plant. As for me, I'd like a girl plant. :) Are they very different from boy plants? Like....are girl plants pink or purple or something? Donny says that purple isn't a girly color, but I kind of think it is. _

_Yep-the city's always alive, even when you come to the darker corners, where the tourists don't like to go, most of the stores' windows are boarded up, and there's graffiti n'stuff all over the walls. My Dad tells us at least six times a day not to go near there, but...._

_....I wish I could. It kind of makes me feel better knowing that not many people like to go there-so I'm not missin' too much. There are broken bottles everywhere, and people who tug around everything they own in shopping carts, and plastic baggies. It makes me sad. _

_Your grandpa's farm sounds really, really pretty. THAT'S something I wouldn't mind seeing. Raph says the only place we'll ever see a farm is in picture books or on the telly, knowing our luck-but I like to hope, anyhow. ^^ The most wildlife we see around here are the rats-whom I don't mind very much, seeing as I....see them a lot, or things like possums or squirrels when they come d-around here. _

_I think it was good that you grew up where you did. I want to see something like that for real someday. :D And you don't rant, Rosa-my brothers say that's what I do best. Heh._

_Take care-write back soon-_

_Mikey_

Chewing thoughtfully on a cookie he had "helped" Splinter to bake (By meticulously licking the bowl and spoon) just that morning, Mikey cheerfully put his chin in his hands, overlooking his letter thoughtfully.

After gazing at the faded notebook paper with a critical eye, Mikey at last nodded in slight satisfaction before putting it aside, and reached for his old crayon box, humming slightly under his breath as he reached for a midnight blue, and began to scribble at the creamy white page glowing softly in the sunlight.

Mikey had found yet another good place in the sewers for such a thing-a small, secluded alcove that too, had a grating quite a few ways up that allowed sunshine to stream through on particularly nice days, warming the slightly cool, secluded little spot, where Mikey's treasure box was hidden underneath an upturned crate.

His brothers were beginning to ask about his occasional disappearances-and now, it appeared as though Splinter was taking notice. With a gulp, Mikey paused in his work-and then, hurriedly resumed.

He had taken most of his precious belongings that rested in a cardboard box, and tugged them here. Rosa's letters, old and unusual looking stones, a colorful, broken badge, some comic books faded, mostly destroyed, and fairly new, including a prized, limited edition one that had been signed by Stan Sakai himself-old pens that had glittery ink, a small, crystal bottle stopper that gleamed and sent tiny little prisms of light shooting in all directions when you turned it in the sunlight, a brass key that was key to nothing, but still looked rather cool-old doodles, old stories he had tried to write, a sketchbook, an eggshell from a robin's nest, a dried lupine that still smelled nice, a weird looking stick.....

These were Mikey's secret treasures-and he kept them well hidden. The growing stack of Rosa's letters were hidden inside Socko, his smelly sock puppet. There was just too much risk that someone would fall upon his letters in the lair one day, and scurry them to off to Master S....

Mikey gulped as he reached for a soft yellow crayon next, drawing a large circle in the midst of the midnight blue. He might as well put on Chopin music after that.

That would be terrible. He LIKED writing to Rosa-and liked to receive letters in return. But he hardly thought Splinter would approve-let alone continue his journies aboveground to retrieve the letters. As it was, the rat insisted on retrieving the pizza himself whenever the rare occasion came that they could order one!

Besides, it wasn't as if he were going to MEET Rosa. Even Mikey knew that was an extraordinarily good way to jeopardize him and his family. While Rosa seemed like a perfectly lovely person-she undoubtedly assumed Mikey was a human being. How would she react if she knew that she was corresponding with a mutant, talking turtle?

Mikey didn't know. And he'd rather not find out anytime soon.

The thought made him just a bit sad, and he sighed before reaching for a dark green crayon lying adjacent to his turned elbow, and carefully began to make rows upon rows of slightly ruffled looking green lines.

Maybe sending out a balloon had been the wrong thing to do-but Mikey had never actually expected anyone to FIND the thing. Nor did it seem like such a bad thing as to have a penpal as pleasant as Rosa-so long as he was slightly withdrawn. Better safe then sorry. The orange-clad turtle frowned lightly at that thought.

Eccch. Now he was beginning to sound like Leo....

With a shrug, the little turtle reached for a light brown crayon next, and began to scribble upon the page, frowning absentmindedly as he did so.

* * *

At last.

With a relieved sigh, Mikey turned the small page over, squinting at the small marks he'd brushed away-and had left a few smears on the edges. Hopefully, they weren't too noticeable...he'd already crumpled up three sheets already because he had messed up.

Messy, five-pointed stars littered a midnight blue sky, with an enormous moon centering the sky-much like an oversized, bloated pearl. There were a few trees here and there on the ground-but not very many on the hills. At least, he hoped the green meatballs looked like hills. He wasn't at all sure they did. And, as for the trees, they looked lonely, so Mikey had hurriedly covered the leaves with little dots. Well, Rosa HAD said that they had lived in a fruit orchard....but did blueberries grow on trees? Or strawberries? Or raspberries? Didn't berries grow on bushes?

Well, he supposed that didn't matter very much. One tree, he filled with numerous triangles of pizza, though he wasn't at all sure if that was accurate. That particular plant certainly SEEMED like a good way to spend one's time investing in.....Mikey's mouth watered. He was going to have to hurry and deliver this to make it home to lunch.

Another tree he had helped, well....he had decided to term that particular one a "breadfruit" tree. Did bread grow on trees? He was guessing no, since he'd helped Splinter bake the stuff before.

The little turtle grinned as he remembered the day each turtle had baked a tiny loaf alongside Splinter's normal, good tasting, regular sized one-and while his had turned out most peculiar (He'd accidentally added food coloring to the mix, turning the bread an unsavory tint of cobalt, but his brothers HAD agreed that it looked so much cooler that way) Raph's had been so hard, Mikey was fairly certain he could have broken his teeth just nibbling a crumb. It was a wonder that they couldn't offer it to the local blacksmiths (Were there blacksmiths anymore....?) as a cheaper substitute for an anvil.

Don had added all of his ingredients precisely to measurement, but he'd kneaded the dough somewhat awkwardly, and the loaf had come out looking very oddly-shaped. Leo, well, Mikey revered his older brother very much, but Leo wasn't going to culinary school anytime soon. It was just like that time Leo had attempted to make lunch-and had instead made something involving jello salad, a hardboiled egg, and, well.....

Mikey giggled as he remembered Splinter's face when the rat tentaively bit into the concoction, with Leo anxiously watching him. Brave as Splinter was, he stomached it for Leo's sake-a fact that the orange-clad turtle very much admired. Personally, he felt in dire need of a stomach pump after the first bite.

But back to his drawing....

Mikey had scribbled an enormous red and white barn, hoping fervently that he'd gotten it right. Next to the barn, he'd drawn another large pizza-fruit tree, and a tree he decided was an oak next to it. Then, the turtle had drawn two long lines hanging from the branch-with a large plank connected to both.

The orange-clad turtle had no idea what Rosa looked like-now, or as a child-but it was just her shadow he had needed. A young girl rode upon the swing, head tilted backwards-her feet thrust forwards-(Mikey had decided to draw one sandal on her foot, with the other one flying into the distance) as she rode the long swing, looking ready to fall directly into the chasm of the badly-drawn stars.

For a moment, Mikey looked at the drawing, then began to fold it into the envelope he had nearby (which had already been stamped and addressed, same as always) alongside his letter. Pouting lightly, he licked the envelope closed, mentally noting that, once again, Post Office glue was not going to make its way into the listing of 44 Flavors at your local ice cream parlor.

* * *

After carefully tucking his treasures underneath the two boxes, and upon drawing on his 'Zorro' cloak, (Which he still believed to make him appear quite distinguished) Mikey hurried up the ladder, stomach growling faintly. All this thinking of food was making him famished. He was going to have to hurry and get this delivered, hurry and-

"Michelangelo."

The familiar voice made the startled turtle stop dead in his tracks, hands instantly freezing upon the rusted metal of the ladder.

His breath hitched.

A large lump was beginning to blossom in the back of his throat, but Mikey could not swallow as silence reigned throughout the small, dank tunnels. At last, unable to bear the silence any longer, Mikey did swallow-albeit painfully.

At last, he turned his head. And what he saw made him devoutly wish he had not.

Splinter was staring at him, dark eyes fixed calmly upon the turtle, clawed hands at his sides as he surveyed the guilty turtle, who was, as of this moment-lost for words.

Whew! It appears Mikey has landed in some serious trouble, aye, guys? But calm down-things are not what they appear to be, if you get what I mean. Lol. My point is-don't worry TOO much-coincidences (If such things do exist) can save your life when you need one most. ^^


	7. Tight Spot

The Silver Balloon

Tight Spot

悩みのMikey! 操業!

Bonjour, everyone. I hope you're all doing well. Forgive me for the lack of updates, lately...D:...I'll do my best to keep up with the flow as best as I can.

Uh-oh...Mikey's in a bit of a tight situation, here...! *Gulps nervously.* Be ready to run, Mikey!

Please, take care, everyone.

* * *

_ Quote:_

_"And it was said that the kanjii of the four fears in life were steadily spelled out into these words: 'Earthquake, Fire, Thunder, and Father.' It is another way of spelling, "Wise fear begets care."_

* * *

Splinter's dark eyes bored a hole into Mikey's startled blue orbs as the turtle unconsciously slid from his position on the rusty ladder a few inches downwards, hands quite clammy, mouth rather dry.

He would have swallowed, had his mind not gone blank. The startled boy watched as his father silently stepped out from the shadows, claws not even rattling or making clicking noises while the rat walked. Despite the fact that Mikey knew when he was in trouble-and in it deep-he couldn't help but admire his Sensei's prowess at just how effortlessly he'd sneaked up to the ninja-in-training turtle from behind. Just how did he do that?

But in any case, he supposed that pondering how he'd been unable to sense his father-after all, had he found the rat in the tunnel just two seconds before he made his way to the ladder, he could have spent his afternoon doing something pleasant, like continuing to breathe and the whatnot-because _now_, now that the ninjitsu master had found Mikey on the ladder, inches away from the surface, the only thing that Mikey could do at this point was to either pray, or, failing that, grovel.

Splinter spoke after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Michelangelo."

The turtle let out the faintest whimper, and slid down a half-inch. Mikey kept his blue eyes focused on the dirty stone beneath him, determined not to look at Splinter. Otherwise, he knew perfectly well that Splinter would just have to look at him-

...and the turtle would break down into confession, which must not happen. Mikey's grip tightened on the ladder, and he forced himself to swallow before speaking.

"H-Hi, Master S!" The turtle said, doing his best to sound jovial and carefree, as if any son might have misunderstood his father's orders when repeated no less then twenty-six times a day, thirty-two on special occasions.

"Fancy m-meetin' y-you here."

Splinter ignored that. Mikey supposed he couldn't blame him. The orange-clad turtle shifted ever so slightly, and the guilty paper still in his 'Zorro' cloak, the paper with his letter to Rosa and his picture of the girl on the swing losing her shoe, rustled against his leg.

Mikey could feel his face go starkly pale as Splinter allowed the silence to continue for another second. Then, arms crossed, eyebrow raised disapprovingly-

"Might I inquire as to what you are doing?"

Mikey blinked.

"May you what now?"

The rat sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingertips before looking up, and pinning the turtle exactly where he perched on the old ladder, like a pin to a moth's leg.

"Michelangelo. What are you doing on that ladder?"

"J-Just, uh, hangin' around."

Mikey cracked a nervous smile at his sensei, as Splinter stared back at him. Uh-oh. Master Splinter was obviously in no mood for jokes. That was usually a prime 'Uh-oh,' moment, for any of his brothers in this situation.

...then again, NONE of his brothers had ever been in this kind of trouble. Splinter was going to kill him, and he'd die until he was dead.

"Michelangelo. Down from the ladder. At once!"

The turtle started; and mentally groaned as he very slowly began to disentangle himself from the bars. A million excuses bubbled to the panicked turtle's mind, frothing in a chiaroscuro from inside of the turtle's thoughts, but each one evaporated before they could come to his mouth. Mikey had never been good at lying, and Splinter knew it.

Going up to the surface world? Strike one. Contacting a human? Strike two. The fact that he'd done it multiple times was rinse, lather, and repeat.

Strike three. Now, Rosa would never get his letter. Or the picture he'd drawn for her. The thought made his heart sank, and made the turtle move even more slowly down the ladder rings, his knuckles turning white from how tightly he was gripping the rust-peeling metal.

Splinter watched him for a few minutes before sighing impatiently.

"Today, my son."

Flinching, Mikey nodded, and then hastened his steps to move downwards. Though he would have much preferred to stay there forever.

But at last, he noted, there were no more rungs to climb down, and the turtle was forced to hesitantly drop to the floor, eyes still fixated on the ground, as if he were hoping that it would open up, swallow him, and preferably take him deep beneath the Earth, where he'd never be looked at again.

Splinter took two step forwards, bending to one knee. Mikey stiffened as two fingertips grasped hold of his chin, and tugged it forwards, so that Mikey was directly facing the rat.

This was it! Mikey's courage buckled as at last, his eyes slowly rose to meet those of his sensei's.

"My son. I want a truthful answer from you. What were you doing up there?"

Mikey didn't answer. The fateful piece of paper was still in his Zorro-cloak pocket, but he certain as shell couldn't show it to Master S. Not if he didn't want the rat to become steamed enough to blow the manhole cover off.

...though, in all honesty, that did sound kinda cool. Mikey attempted to draw back, but Splinter's grip was secure.

"Michelangelo. You have an answer for everything. So give me one now, my son."

Splinter's voice dropped, and it became deathly serious. Mikey began to fidget, but the rat wouldn't look away!

"Why were you on the ladder-that ladder-to a manhole covering?" Splinter asked quietly. The tears began to burn in Mikey's blue eyes, but he was far too afraid to shed them. That would only secure his guilt!

At last, regretting the fact that he had not used his crayons to write out a proper will, Mikey tremblingly opened his mouth-and his stomach rumbled.

The two started at the unexpected sound, and the turtle blinked, bewilderingly placing a tri-fingered hand to his yellow crest, which well-covered his tummy. Why in the world was his stomach thinking of FOOD now?

...well, to be fair, it rarely thought of much else, but why now? Dinner was kinda close, but...

Master Splinter exhaled, and briefly rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Mikey glanced up there as well, but he didn't see anything. Again, Mikey's stomach grumbled, and the rat managed a grudging smile.

"I see...I take it your brothers saw fit to tell you that I had ordered a pizza for your dinner?"

Mikey froze, momentary panic of dark doom and a ruined existence momentarily forgotten at the prospect. His blue eyes lightened, and Splinter shook his head again, exhaling.

"My son, you know I will not permit you to travel on surface for it," said the rat, scowling once again. Forgetting completely about the letter in his pocket, Mikey's spirits sank.

"But I can carry it! Really!"

Splinter reached for a ladder rung, looking disgruntled.

"You may carry it back to the Lair, if you so wish, and if you avoid dropping it...again. But you did not have my permission to go to the surface world, Michelangelo. You'll have to be punished."

Splinter's stern voice made Mikey cringe, though hope flickered inside of him as the rat began to climb upwards, pausing for a moment to look back at Mikey.

"Wait here a moment; I shall be back presently. But you're going to bed directly after dinner, Michelangelo-tonight, and tomorrow. No video games, either. And," commented the Sensei, as he resumed climbing up the rusted ladder. "Five more sets of crunches in training, tomorrow."

Mikey started in indignant horror; though the punishment, as it did not involve his immediate dismembering, did seem paltry in comparison to what he'd been expecting. He hated going to bed early-and he hated crunches!

But as Master Splinter quietly cracked open the manhole to slip out, Mikey decided to consider the positives. The letter was still in his pocket, Splinter knew nothing of Rosa, Mikey wasn't going to buried somewhere in the outskirts of town, and, to top off the deal, he got pizza! _Pizza!_

Crunches, he decided, were not so bad. As for the early bedtime, Splinter said he had to go to bed early. He never said anything about going to _sleep _early. Mikey could make a pillow fort full of...of...his bloodthirsty crew of undead, baseball-playing pirates!

And, as for the video games? Well...he'd throw in an old video to take his mind off things. Or draw. Or play with his brothers. Or something. Or write to Rosa and tell her of his triumph, once he found a way to leave the letter in the old box again. It was still somewhat dangerous, as there was not always the guarantee of Splinter ordering pizza to bail him out, and the neighborhood was risky enough for anyone; let alone a mutant turtle kid walking around.

Mikey frowned lightly, brow furrowing.

This was a pickle.

Mikey dropped to bended knee as the manhole cover flickered shut over the opening.

_'Pizza guy,' _thought the orange-clad turtle happily. '_I love you. You saved me this day.'_

* * *

It seemed a very little bit of forever for the rat to return, but he did. Delighted, Mikey carefully took the warm box, as if it contained the Golden Fleece inside, and, alongside Master Splinter, began the walk back to the lair. The turtle longed to skip and hum over his new found good fortune, but he worreid Splinter would immediately pick up on it. After all, he was supposed to be depressed over his 'cruel and unusual punishment,' right?

...besides, if he _did_ skip, what could become of the pizza? With that in mind, the orange-clad turtle kept it to a light trot, though he didn't seem able to bite back a large smile. Out of the corner of his eye, Splinter noticed it, and stopped suddenly. Blissfully unaware, the small turtle hurried on.

The rat only looked at his young son for a moment, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as a small frown lined his features. He wondered when his son would come clean with-

"Master Splinter?"

The rat glanced up; Mikey had finally torn his eyes away from the pizza box to realize that his father was no longer walking beside him. Mikey stared at him, looking baffled.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Yes, my son."

Splinter resumed walking, and, reassured the rat was a few paces away, so did Mikey. But, for the briefest of seconds, a small smile flashed on the sensei's face.

But, just as quickly, it disappeared, and the two did likewise upon reaching their home, with four small turtles scrambling for a slice.

* * *

Whew! Mikey got out pretty easily, I should think! And what exactly does Splinter know? Hmmm...well, he's obviously not going to allow Mikey to get hurt, but...

Well, you'll just have to wait and see, neh?


	8. Where The Moon Bird Rests From Flight

The Silver Balloon

Where The Moon-Bird Rests From Flight

ミステリー! 秘密主義の援助!

)*(

Hi, everyone! To those of you who live in America-or don't, that's just fine, too ^^-I hope you all had a Happy Fourth of July!

Heavens, I missed this story...and I need to get a move on if I want to finish half the amount of updates that I want done by Summer's end! *Rolls up sleeves, looks determined.*

I hope you enjoy this next part...as some rather peculiar things are at work...

* * *

_Quote:_

_"Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black  
And the dark street winds and bends.  
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow  
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,  
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go  
To the place where the sidewalk ends."_

_~*~

* * *

_

Carefully tucking the small envelope inside of his pillow case, the little orange-clad turtle plunked his head against his pillows with a small sigh, his eyes fixed on the dark, wooden ceiling overhead.

He pouted slightly as he heard rumbling sounds from the living room. Turning his shell to the door, Mikey absentmindedly began to play with the small lamp Splinter had salvaged from the sewer tunnels, sending the room from darkness, to light, to greater light, before tweaking it to darkness once again.

Uncomfortable with the dark, Mikey tweaked it to moderately light, and decided to leave it that way before curiously glancing at the door.

Right now, Splinter was mediating in the dojo, and his brothers had gotten permission to tug out a movie for the evening, while he had been sent directly to bed, much to Raph's sneering derision.

Normally, Mikey would have been quite upset by this turn of events, but in all honesty, he had to remind himself that he'd already seen 'The Blob' forty-six times, last he checked, and, that, well...he needed a moment to think.

The small turtle turned slightly on his bed, still frowning slightly.

What was he going to do, now? Hurry to send Rosa's letter sometime tomorrow, sneaking up the ladder to visit the mailbox, as he always did? He wasn't too sure of that, anymore. After all, if he'd been as frightened as he had been today when faced with the prospect of his own father finding out...

...what if he came face to face with a human? Mikey swallowed, suddenly cold, and the turtle scurried to hide himself under his comforters, trembling lightly.

He was a ninja. He was powerful. He could handle anything!...except maybe a dog, if Mikey ran into one that wasn't very friendly, or got caught by someone who didn't assume he was placing in the victory circle at a costume convention...

Mikey wriggled down into his sheets.

He'd never come face to face with an actual human before, but Splinter's constant insistence of keeping their existence a secret from those who lived on the surface was enough to make Mikey frightened. The rat was all about invincible in Mikey's eyes, because that was just how Splinter _was_. There had never been anything that the rat couldn't handle, couldn't _fix_ in some way or another. And the small turtle had seen how his Sensei could fight while exhibiting moves in their training exercises. Surely he could handle any human danger-and set people running if they tried to confront him, right?

...right?

"Right," Mikey murmured lightly to himself as he turned again, making Rosa's letter and picture crinkle from underneath him.

Splinter was a good guy. Mikey KNEW he was. And if the world was anything like how it was on TV, the good guys always won out in the end. People weren't _afraid_ of the good guys!

...unless it was Godzilla. People were kinda ascared of him. And Batman. And The Hulk. But they generally_ did _good things, even if they looked scary! As for his family, they never hurt anyone in how they lived-they only took stuff that had been thrown away! And Master Splinter, while he was a great many things, including an _extremely_ talented martial artist...

...he wasn't a _violent_ person. Not by nature. The thought of Splinter actually hurting someone was incomprehensible to the young turtle. But what if the rat had no choice?

Mikey shivered again, unconsciously reaching for his small teddy bear as he did so.

It didn't take a genius to know that Splinter was kinda protective. But how far would he go if Mikey messed up while talking to Rosa? It wasn't face-to-face, but...

Michelangelo sat up, stretched, and got up from his bed, reaching for a nearby book that Don had kept on the small, extremely cramped for space shelf between the small beds the turtles shared. But even though he quite enjoyed _The Tale of Desperaux_, he took no delight in Roscuro's plotting or in Desperaux's continuous fainting fits tonight. Instead, his mind deadlocked back to Rosa.

The old woman was kind in her letters-very much so. But she assumed he was just some boy-a _human_ boy. What might she say if he told her that he was a turtle?

Well, at the very least, she probably wouldn't believe him. Reassured, Mikey flicked to the chapter about Miggery and the clouts.

But what if she did believe him? What if she told someone? What if that got in the wrong ears? What would happen, then?

The small turtle halted in midst of turning a page, blue eyes suddenly flickering to a more fearful avenue.

Splinter said that people would come, when the turtle had once asked such a question when he was three or four. He had said little more, but judging by the way his face had clouded over with the thought, Mikey knew that meant to stay put. After all, as he grew, he had learned that 'people coming' meant that people in suits with lots and lots of equipment would come down to the sewers, to, as Mikey had once heard a cowboy say on the TV, 'flush them out like the little rats they are.'

That was scary. Almost petrifying. But Rosa didn't seem like those types of humans. Her letters were _fun_ to get-and even more so to read! Mikey had saved Rosa's letters in his treasure box. As long as they only spoke via mail, and Mikey didn't say anything incriminating, why, then, what was the problem?

Mikey's shoulders sagged, and the turtle shoved the book away from him, no longer in the mood to read. The _surface_ was a problem. Writing these letters was no chore at all-but getting these letters to Rosa? Much more difficult. The turtle's face scrunched up ever so slightly as he attempted to remember the 'data,' as Donny called it, that he had collected.

By now, he had learned that the mailman came around Noon, sometimes early evening on Thursdays and Fridays. And, for some reason or another, the post never came at _all_ on Sunday, though he was not yet sure why.

So how was he going to do this? How was he going to send Rosa his picture and letter without taking too much of a risk?

Suddenly, Mikey's eyes lit up, as an idea burst into his mind. Hopeful, the turtle rushed out of the room, mentally congratulating himself on his brilliance.

"DONNY! Donny, I need you!"

* * *

Lol. Dear Mikey. We still have some chapters to go...^^


End file.
